


a thousand days of rain

by loyaulte_me_lie



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Oxford, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20968106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: assorted scenes from an oxford college staircase.





	a thousand days of rain

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of going to the gym like I was supposed to tonight, I ate a whole packet of chocolate biscuits and wrote this. Regrets? I think not.
> 
> I'm from Oxford, and worked in the colleges this summer, hence the inspiration for this. It's the most gorgeous city, and I am so, *so* hopelessly in love with it. This story will be updated sporadically, as it may end up being a continual work in progress.
> 
> Title is from the breathtaking "Say Yes to Life" by Gang of Youths, a song I feel maybe sums up Henry & Alex for me (the lyric: "say yes to sticking with a city through a thousand days of rain").

_The thing about fault lines is that they are such a cliché._

**~Lauren Elkin**

**i.**

It rains the day he arrives in Oxford, streams of silver thundering down in the ancient streets. The car pulls up and he looks at the façade of Wadham College, the perfect front lawn, and feels a little thrill of excitement shuddering up his spine. He’s here. _He’s here. _His (absolutely kickass) new equerry, Shaan, had made all the necessary logistical arrangements to allow a prince to move into his room as smoothly as possible, so that’s how Henry finds himself lugging his suitcase up the stairs with his parents close behind him, just like any other nervous new undergraduate student.

“It’s a nice room,” his mother says, going over to put the box she’s carrying the desk by the window. It overlooks the back garden; the clusters of trees, the gunmetal sky.

“Very nice,” Henry agrees. It’s barely the size of his ensuite back in Kensington Palace, but it’s his, _his, _it’s not the crown’s or the Queen’s – this belongs to _him. _There’s a four foot bed against the wall, a squishy red armchair tucked to the side of a wardrobe and a set of shelves. A tiny ensuite bathroom is behind the door next to the bed.

There’s a knock at the half-ajar door.

“Come in!” Henry calls, and it opens to reveal a white girl in an enormous green hoodie and leggings, the bottom of her blonde hair dyed indigo. She’s got a nose ring, and loads of thread bracelets, and she sticks out her hand in greeting.

“Hey new neighbour,” she says. “I’m Angie, thought I’d come introduce myself.”

“Henry,” Henry says, shaking the proffered hand. “How many people have arrived?”

“We’ll leave you to it, darling,” his mother interjects with a smile for Angie, who grins back in a comfortable, easy sort of way. Henry notices that, notices how easy she seems to find it to inhabit her own skin. “We’ll be back after lunch, say goodbye then, ok?”

“Ok,” Henry says, accepting the hair ruffle from his Dad, and the kiss from his mother, and then they’re gone down the stairs.

“Wow your folks are crazy elegant,” Angie says, leaning against the wall. “And everyone, to answer your last question. We were thinking of going for a pint at the Kings Arms when you arrived, if you’re up for that?”

“Yes, of course,” Henry says. “Let me find my wallet.”

*

His staircase are, as a general rule, lovely. Some of them are quieter than others, but he supposes it _is _the first day, and the loud ones certainly don’t let any awkward silences linger. Li is the other English student, there are two lawyers – Arundhati and Tomas – a chemistry student – Bas, a geographer, Manuela, a physicist, Emma, and then Angie, who does philosophy to no-one’s surprise.

“I’m a walking cliché,” she announces, tipping her glass between her hands. “Gap yah and all, what can you do?”

“At least you know it,” Manuela shrugs. “What eco-tourism shite did you pull, then?”

“Actually stayed in London, worked at a homeless shelter for most of it,” Angie says. “Three months in Paris learning French but that’s as far as I went. Little homebird, that’s me.”

“Wow,” Arundhati replies. Henry nods along. “I did mine working in Delhi, with my aunt.”

“Awesome, where does your aunt work?”

“Women’s rights charity. It was fascinating to be on the ground with her, you know?”

“You’re gonna focus on that in your degree then?” Manuela asks.

“Hopefully,” Arundhati grins.

After a while, everyone but Angie, Manuela, Arundhati, and Henry have gone back to their rooms to finish unpacking; Henry is having too much fun to even think of leaving. The three of them are so bright and quick-witted, arguing about representation in books and then politics and then which cheese is the best, it’s amazing – he can just sit and nurse his lager and soak up the atmosphere, the sparks of their conversation falling around him like fireworks. It’s nearly like being out with Pez, which is his favourite place to be when he has to be around the general public. Why bother with boring Prince Henry when you’ve got the one-man West-End musical that is Percy Okonjo to pay attention to instead?

“So, Henry, what about you?”

He blinks as they turn to face him. “What about me?”

“Tell us something.”

“Anything.”

They’re grinning. A slight tipsy panic starts fluttering in his chest like a caged bird. Didn’t Mum say something about the college putting in place measures regarding his royalty?

“I…uh…well, I’m not sure if you guys know but…”

“That you’re Prince Henry of the Royal Family, yes, surprisingly we noticed,” Manuela cuts in, not unkindly. “None of us were going to bring it up until you did.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“No worries, pal. You’re going to get enough gawking from everyone else, it’s the least you can ask for us _not _to be weird about it.” Angie drains her pint. “So, tell us something funny or cool.”

“Most of my funny stories are about my best friend. He is well and truly bonkers,” Henry says.

“What’s his name?” Arundhati leans forward. “Storytime everyone!”

“Percy. And I guess the most ridiculous thing he’s done recently is when we were in Wales together after results day, and he decided the best antidote to the heat was to streak through these fields of sheep, so I’m just running after him with his clothes and our picnic and he’s about fifty yards ahead of me screaming “Free Willy!” and then he trips over a log and nearly twists his ankle.”

“Buck-ass naked?” Angie clarifies through her laughter.

“Buck-ass naked. It was quite a moment.”

“I bet the Queen fucking _loves _him,” Manuela says, wiping her eyes. “He sounds fantastic.”

“He’ll be visiting at some point, so I’m sure you’ll get to meet him.”

“I’ll be mad if you don’t introduce us.”

“Woe betide I ignite your wrath,” Henry says, and Arundhati laughs, and he wonders why he was ever nervous about making friends at university.

**ii.**

**auntie pezza**

so how’s it going?

**auntie pezza**

replaced me yet?

**prince of where??**

Yep.

**auntie pezza**

spill

**auntie pezza**

the

**auntie pezza**

beans

**prince of where??**

three of my housemates are lovely.

**prince of where??**

And hilarious and political.

**prince of where??**

They want to meet you.

**auntie pezza**

what did you tell them about me?

**prince of where??**

naked sheep story

**auntie pezza**

THAT WAS A GOOD DAY

**auntie pezza**

let’s repeat sometime

**auntie pezza**

bet one can streak in Oxbridge if one is canny about it

**prince of where??**

Afejsjc pez we just got here

**auntie pezza**

and?

**auntie pezza**

freshers is a fantastic excuse even pa can’t complain

**prince of where??**

stfu pa okonjo lives off your melodrama

**auntie pezza**

i aim to keep his life interesting

**auntie pezza**

speaking of, are you coming to the OF fundraiser next month?

**auntie pezza**

Ijeawele’s up my ass about it

**auntie pezza**

i got a new jacket for it you’re gonna love

**prince of where??**

duh

**prince of where??**

new jackets are important occasions

**prince of where??**

which colour did you go for in the end

**auntie pezza**

you’ll just have to wait & see, gorgeous 😉

**prince of where??**

Are you _flirting _with me, good sir?

**auntie pezza**

always.

**auntie pezza**

who could resist you, my precious

[picture of Gollum]

**prince of where??**

Hello is this HR?

**auntie pezza**

lololololol

**auntie pezza**

well my dear I believe we are going out to Cambridge’s finest institution

**auntie pezza**

i must depart

**auntie pezza**

but remember I am but a vomit comet away if you need me

**auntie pezza**

and I will know if you’re lying fairy queen help us

**auntie pezza**

kiss some cute boys for me

**auntie pezza**

i’m expecting updates

**prince of where??**

Maybe

**prince of where??**

have a good night

**prince of where??**

love you

**auntie pezza**

love you too xxxxxxx

**iii.**

“Babes, I wanted to ask you something,” Angie says, coming into Henry’s room with two cups of tea and depositing one on his desk. He offers her the packet of Jaffa cakes and she takes one, leaning against the back of his chair. “Something which you are totally allowed not to answer.”

“Should I be worried?” Henry asks, putting his pen down. Outside, it’s raining again; November has arrived in an icy edge, all frosty mornings and a dull, metallic xylophone of clouds.

“No. I’m just being nosy.” She takes a slurp of her tea. “So basically I have a pretty excellent gaydar, so I was wondering if you are gay because I’m pretty sure you are.”

Henry’s stomach clenches suddenly, tightly. Angie notices, puts a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want, and even if I hadn’t signed the NDA, I’d never tell anyone. It’s a shitty thing being outed by someone. Believe me I know.”

“You’re…”

“Trans.”

“Wait, what?”

“You really didn’t notice?”

“Not at all,” Henry says, turning in his chair to face her. “Maybe I’m just oblivious, but…”

“You’re not oblivious, I see the way you watch the world,” Angie wrinkles her nose. “I mean, I’m lucky, I’ve always been quite small and skinny which helps fit into the gender norm for your average woman, I guess.”

“It would, yes. Thanks for telling me. And yeah, you’re right, by the way.”

“Uh-huh?” Angie’s eyes are so warm, and Henry feels something release, like the elastic bands Pez used to ping at the back of his head in class when their classics teacher wasn’t looking. She squeezes his shoulder and then goes to flop on the end of his bed. He rolls the chair over, offers her another Jaffa cake. “So have you seen anyone you fancy here yet?”

“How do you have _time _to find people to fancy?” Henry asks.

“I prioritise my work-life balance.”

“We’re at _Oxford. _I don’t think they’ve ever heard of the concept.”

“Well I think a good fuck clears your brain,” Angie leans back on one elbow. “Like exercise. Endorphins. I imagine it’s a logistical nightmare with you though, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Shaan has to confiscate their phones and then make them sign an NDA on the way out.”

“Nothing like bureaucracy for killing an erection.”

Henry gives her a look, and she laughs. “Well if you ever do fancy anyone I’m told I’m a fucking fantastic wing-woman, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Henry says dryly. “What about you?”

“Me? Going on a date with that guy I got with in Plush, you know the one I was telling you about? The engineer?”

“Oooh, the fit one?”

“Arms to _die _for. Delicious.” Angie licks her lips, and Henry feels a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

“I’m happy for you.”

“Bae, thanks.” Then, “if you don’t mind, I’m going to go and get my reading. I’m not going to work if I’m left to my own devices.”

“Sure,” Henry says. “As long as you don’t mind me screaming about Oscar Wilde at you in a very gentlemanly and dignified fashion?”

“I would like _nothing _more.”

**iv.**

“You’re sure you’re not going to assassinate me?” Henry asks, slightly out of breath. “Cause this is the way a detective story starts.”

Cameron starts laughing, settles himself against the chimney and pulls a bottle of wine out of his rucksack.

“Dude, have you seen your bodyguards? They might all be super hot, but handcuffs are not my thing. Wine?”

“Thanks,” Henry says, taking a swig. Then, “should we be drinking up here?”

“I’ll get you down safely.”

“Ok.”

They sit and stare out at the forest of spires for a while, the stars peering cautiously through wisps of cloud. Henry adjusts the gloves Pez sent him for his birthday; rainbow knit. He’d only dare wear them where there are no cameras.

“Can I kiss you?” Cameron asks after a moment. When Henry turns his head, Cameron’s face is a _lot _closer than expected. God, he’s pretty, Henry thinks, all sharp lines and warm brown skin and broad nose.

“Yeah,” he says, slightly dazed. That’s all the permission Cameron needs, because suddenly his mouth is on Henry’s, and Henry is kissing him back, and it’s hot and dirty and so much better than his awkward sixteen-year-old experimentation with Phillip’s friend in the old wine cellar at Sandringham. Cameron’s hands are sure, steady; he kisses like a conversation, and it takes Henry’s breath away. Not to mention that they’re doing this on the roof of Exeter College.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” he asks, after about half an hour. “I have to say, there is an NDA involved, but we can do that after, I know it’s the least sexy thing in the world…”

“I don’t care,” Cameron says. “Come on. Let me teach you my wild and wicked ways, my young fresher.”

“You’re only three years older than me.”

“And how many guys have you kissed, huh?”

“I concede,” Henry says, following him down off the roof.

*

“Well, he obviously _did _have a problem with me,” Henry says after a moment, “because he’s been avoiding me for the last two weeks.”

“Baby chicken,” Pez replies, wrapping his arms tighter around Henry’s neck. His warm weight on Henry’s lap is comforting, like the times they’d spend hours like this in school reading their respective books and chatting shit. Their reputation as house parents didn’t come from nowhere. “Do you want me to hunt him down and cover him in egg mayonnaise? Or I could send him an envelope of glitter? Or mega-hail him from the roof of the Bodleian?”

“Tempting,” Henry says into Pez’s shoulder. “But maybe a bit too much. I didn’t, well…have _feelings _for him but we slept together three times, and it’s just _rude._”

“It _is,_” Pez says. “He should have said something.”

“Damn right,” Angie says, then, “sorry, the door was open. Is this about flaky Cameron? And is _this _who I think it is?”

“It is about flaky Cameron and if you’re assuming I’m Pez then you would be 100% correct. You are…Angie?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Thank you for looking after my munchkin for me,” Pez says, squeezing Henry even closer.

“Christ, I can’t breathe.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Why the hell did I invite you to visit?”

“Because you love me and we’re having a wild night out together before we go back to London for Christmas. Are you London based, Angela?”

“Finchley Park,” Angie says, leaning against the doorway.

“Awesome, there’s a great brunch place in Farringdon, we’ll all go over Christmas if that’s not too forward of me. What about your other friends?”

“Manuela’s at her boyfriend’s in York, and Arundhati’s in India until New Year.”

“I’m what…oh, hi,” Manuela also appears, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

“Clothes,” Angie tuts.

“Eh,” Manuela says. “Pez. Right?”

“All your friends know me!”

“Of course they do.”

“I am so amazingly flattered. You coming out tonight with us, Manuela? Yes? Fantastic.”

“We’ll start pres at 8,” Henry says. “I’m going to take this lump on a tour of Oxford if he ever gets off my lap.”

Pez smacks a kiss against Henry’s cheek, and bounds up, picking up his bright red leather jacket from the bed and wrapping a yellow scarf around his neck. “Up, let’s go!”

“Have fun, babies,” Angie says.

*

“What about your friends?” Henry says as they meander through the streets. It’s relatively quiet at 6:30 on a Friday – everyone’s escaped work early for the weekend. Some of the Christmas huts are up in Broad Street, and they stop for paper cups of mulled wine. “Are they around London?”

“All the ones I actually like are from America, Nigeria, and South Africa,” Pez replies. “And all going back for the holidays. So, not really. You were not lying about yours being fun.”

“Well, Aru, Manuela, and Angie are the fun ones. The others just want to get on with work, which is fair enough.”

“Shocking, actually doing what they came here to do.” Pez knocks his shoulder against Henry’s. “A capital crime.”

“Did you get that thing sorted with your professor?”

“Yeah, he was just being a racist asshole. You know the type.”

“Yeah,” Henry says. “Manuela’s had some shit in her department. We’ve been helping her with the reporting stuff, but I don’t know if anything is going to happen.”

“System’s fucked.”

“Absolutely. It’s going to be weird going back to all the pomp and circumstance,” Henry says, digging around in his pocket for change as they approach Delilah’s usual haunt.

They stop and chat for a bit to Delilah who sleeps in the doorway of the Blackwells Poster Shop after closing time, and then Henry drags Pez around all the old colleges, telling him stories about all the old alumni. They get takeout from Mission Burrito on St Michael’s Street and wander back in the direction of Radcliffe Square.

“It’s awesome, isn’t it,” Pez says after a while, sitting on the steps of the Radcliffe Camera, huddled together against the sharp winter wind. “Just getting to be us. No responsibilities, no family honour, no school rules and curfews. Or at least, it feels like they’re more distant. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Henry says. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on Tumblr: @if-fortunate
> 
> Also, note: the vomit comet is (apparently) slang for the X5, or the Oxford-Cambridge bus.


End file.
